#the . the way that hershel will never be able to move on from claire because she was The One

[another-clive-blog]

Waiwaitwait what if Clive got killed in his own fake shootout at the casino?

You got Clive thinking about how he didn’t plan on dying, Luke seeing “himself” die, Dimitri wondering where his accomplice is when they show up at the pagoda, and the mobile fortress… uh. I don’t know what happens to it since Clive is dead.

Claire could come in as their guide where Clive would have been.

technically i used this for a story about claire in a time loop where clive keeps dying despite her trying to stop it but it’s fun as a standalone idea

!!! Oooh this is the good good stuff. I know you're here for Clive dying so I focused on that, but I am definitely doing a Dimitri part in the future 👀 Thank you for the idea !! (Also I'm keeping this fic rec hehe)

List of TW : Gunshots, gun wound, mention of death, blood. No graphic injury description besides the blood, no medical stuff (this takes place in a casino after all). Also I've never died before so this may not be accurate, my apologies

(On a very related note and contrary to what these past few days may indicate, I am not stopping the silly meme redraws and regular fanarts. I'm back from work so I can start working on these again !!)

Layton hid behind a slot machine, clenching his teeth as bullets wheezed all around him. He hated the very thought of leaving Luke alone in the middle of this battlefield, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

The other Luke should have been close by. He had taken a late start because of that punch, yes, but he should have been able to catch up : and yet, Hershel couldn't see him anywhere.

He had a feeling the solution to this puzzle wouldn't be a pleasant one.

Seeing an opening, Layton left his hiding spot to run across the casino, his focus split between the bullets flying by and the person he was looking for. A blue silhouette, probably hiding behind another slot machine, most definitely near the entrance of the casino-

There.

He almost missed him because he wasn't wearing his blue hat -it must have fallen at some point when he ran for cover-, but once he had spotted him, Hershel didn't waste any time. Stepping next to Future Luke, the professor immediately pressed his back against the slot machine to occupy less space, to make himself harder to spot too. This hiding spot was- well, not quite good, to put it that way. Bullets were flying dangerously close. Machines were falling apart, revealing their presence to their enemies. They had to move fast or they would soon be cornered.

A swear caught his attention, and Hershel turned to his apprentice with a frown.

When he saw the state he was in though, it seemed to him that the bullets were so far away all of a sudden, even though they had suddenly gotten far too close at the same time.

Future Luke sat on the ground next to him, shaking and sweating and swearing under his breath. His clumsy hands were trying and failing to compress a specific spot on his chest, one that was turning more and more crimson each passing second.

The professor stopped thinking.

"When did you get hit ?" he asked quickly while taking the younger man's jacket off, making sure not to add to his tremors.

Future Luke watched as Layton pressed the blue fabric against his stomach. "A- I-," he struggled to mutter, which was both ridiculous and humiliating, "Few minutes- I think"

The professor only nodded, brows furrowed in silence.

Clive could see the math the professor was doing, the way he was recalling knowledge about biology and firearms and fatal injuries- although this injury was hardly fatal, really, not with the professor here.

"Professor-" he wheezed, "You have- to save me"

Layton's eyes went up, watching his face for a second, then down again, to the blue fabric that wasn't blue anymore. "I am trying to, my boy."

Oh, funny. Did he call Luke his boy ? Did he see Luke as some sort of son, or was it more of a mentor-apprentice kind of thing ? Had this been a slip-up, or was he too his boy, despite not being this professor's apprentice ?

Wait. He wasn't anyone's apprentice. He wasn't Luke, he meant nothing to them, the professor didn't even remember him. He could die here and no one would mourn him- the actual him. "You- you have to," he muttered in panic because it was finally kicking in, the realization that all of this was play pretend but the bullet wasn't, he was going to die, he was going to actually die here in this stupid and meaningless place- "Professor you have to- you have to save me again-"

Layton put a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm the boy. "Not so loud, they could hear you."

Oh right, because the shooting was still going on, the plan was still going on, it didn't matter if Clive died in the middle of it now did it ? Dimitri didn't need him, right ? None of them had bothered to spare him, to give him enough time to stand up after that first punch because it was so much easier to shoot him while he was down.

"I- I can't die. It can't end like- like this," Layton heard the young man say- but it didn't sound like denial this time.

It sounded like anger.

It was odd, Layton realized, how different he was. So commanding and self-righteous. Without the blue hat and the blue vest, now entirely red, he almost looked like someone else entirely- like he had never been Luke in the first place.

Layton was glad that Luke wasn't here.

Of course, that was the moment the boy chose to arrive.

"Professor !!" Luke was breathless, panicked tears in his eyes : he was looking back in fear because the bullets had not stopped, how long could they keep going for ? "Professor, you-"

Luke's eyes fell upon his dying future self.

Layton loosened his grip on the vest as he tried to divert his apprentice's attention instead.

Clive did not look at either of them, too busy bleeding out on the ground.

He felt very weak suddenly, which was definitely because the professor wasn't compressing his wound anymore. He tried to do it himself, but his arms remained still on the ground.

"Professor-" He needed him to compress the wound. Why was he talking to the kid ? Clive was right there, bleeding out, and he needed the professor to save him- why wasn't the professor saving him ?? Layton was supposed to do something, to make him all better and maybe things would finally go well then !

"You can't die !!" The kid was at his side now, and yep, he was crying. Marvelous. "You are me, and therefore you can't die !!"

That didn't make any sense, but he couldn't even tell him that much. He felt weak- no actually, he wasn't even sure he felt weak anymore. He couldn't feel much of anything in his body and mind, even the pain seemed like a distant memory now.

"Luke, you shouldn't look-" The professor said, and was he trying to hold the kid back ? Why had he let go of the vest ? Why wasn't anything working ?

Dimitri would make fun of him- he could already hear him. He would say that he was always trying to be dramatic, and that maybe this would teach him a lesson. And Clive would answer that Dimitri was wrong because well, Clive was right, had been right all along, the professor had saved him and Dimitri really couldn't say the same, now could he ? The professor had always been there to fix Dimitri's mistakes. He had always made the world a better place. He had come here of all places to play his part, play his role, and stop them- save them. He would save Clive, just like he always had. And then Dimitri would feel stupid, like he deserved to, and he would apologize. And Layton-

"I am sorry," Clive heard somewhere next to him, and farther away there was crying. Turning his head with great pain, he managed to see the professor looking at him regretfully, holding back a devastated teenage boy in his arms. "I can't help you."

Clive watched the professor. His sorrow. His grip on the young boy who was fighting to try and do something, anything.

An image formed in his mind. He couldn't see it. It was already too dark.

The last words his brain registered were an apology.

[translaytonblr]

cannot stop thinking about miracle mask. cannot stop thinking about how beautiful of a game its trying to be while being held back by bad writing choices and even worse 3d mocap cutscenes. cant stop thinking about randall and hershel's relationship. cannot stop thinking about how randall was resurrected wrong and how layton was forced to confront the man he (thinks) he killed. cant stop thinking about henry and angela's unhealthy, festering hope that they held onto for almost 20 years. and, lastly of all, i cannot stop thinking about how level-5 bungled it all in the end

[jamesbucksiclebarnes]

Rating: Mature: Language, threats of violence.

Chapter List: [1] | [2] | [3] | [4] | [5] | [6] | [7] | [8] | [9] | [10] | [11] | [12] | [13] | [14] | [15] | [16] | [17] | [18]

[AO3 Link] | [Fic Page]

Tag List: @crossbowking, @khaleesislytherin

SERIES SUMMARY:

"Not human. She was not human. They all knew it. Could almost feel it, but couldn't make sense of it. That was why they were afraid. Not because of what she used to be Before. But because of what she was now."

Having found herself serving as the right-hand to the Governor for too long, Synnove le Jacques does her best to make things right with the people of the Prison. Stuck beside her partner in crime, her irritatingly obnoxious and hideously problematic best friend, Merle, she does her best to fight back against the monster she has let the Governor become.

CHAPTER TITLE: A Council to Council the Counciled Council.

I stood with Rick upon the fields, looking out over the impressive expanse of crops with a soft smile. He looked proudly down at the row of corn stalks, rising almost two feet from the dirt, and let out a relaxed sigh.

It had been a strenuous few weeks. The first couple of days after Woodbury had been reduced to a pile of ashes had been such a haze of stress and panic that I barely even remembered it. We had all made a mad scramble to clear out enough room for the sudden influx of people, ridding D-Block of biters, going on run after run to ensure we had enough food and supplies to support a community this size. Daryl and I had spent more time outside of the fences than within them. If we weren’t on a run, then we were out on a hunt; if we weren’t on a hunt, then we were on watch; if we weren’t on watch, we were out in the forests, looking for any possible sign of the Governor’s whereabouts. The two of us barely had an hour alone these days.

Not that I entirely minded. His company was oddly comforting, almost homely in a way I was not at all willing to either admit or attempt to understand.

Now that everything had calmed down somewhat, we had been less stressed out. Our days had become more structured, less chaotic. We had an actual schedule for watches, which made choosing which day to go out on a hunt much, much easier, and gave us a little more free time – most of which Daryl and I usually… spent with each other, anyway.

Today, however, I had chosen to come out an enjoy the mid-springtime sun with Farmer Rick. Once things had finally settled down around here, he had officially decided to “retire” from all leadership duties – which had started an entirely new form of chaos. Of course, no one had particularly wanted a repeat of what had happened with Philip, so the scramble to figure out what to do about leadership roles had been an irritatingly long, drawn out affair. Finally, the community as a whole had decided upon a council. It was the best way to avoid giving one person too much power. Eight members, from all different walks of life, were elected to be the voice of the people. The first six of which had been an easy choice for almost everyone.

Hershel, Karen, Claire, Daryl, Michonne, and Tyrese.

Each of them represented something different, had different views and opinions, yet none of them were what one would call… “problematic”. So far as everyone knew, of course.

The final two, however… They were somewhat of a challenge.

Hayden was a simple man, a plumber and handyman that had pretty much been vital to the development of Woodbury since the beginning. He was elected in order to assist the council in decisions regarding upgrades and repairs to the prison, to which he had proved almost instantly helpful – organising a repair of the pipes and giving us actual running water.

His complications came from his previous relationship with another member of the council. He and Claire had been married once, before the world had turned into a post-apocalyptic nightmare. They had been in the midst of a rather ugly divorce when the proverbial shit had really hit the fan. It had become almost an unspoken rule back in Woodbury to never find yourself caught in the same room as the two of them. They were practically nuclear, always biting at one another, never able to make it through an actual conversation without it turning into a heated argument. Which, obviously, made council meetings quite… interesting, to say the least.

Of course, the squabbling couple did agree on one thing. And one thing only.

That I was a cold-hearted, murderous bitch that deserved to die.

Their opinion of me was no secret and was echoed throughout some of the other people from Woodbury. Not many, thankfully, but enough that it became an issue when I was chosen as the eighth member of the council.

The decision had come as a shock to me and apparently had not been an easy one to make. Unsurprisingly, Daryl had been the one to initially bring me up as a potential candidate. Michonne and Hershel had both backed me, a fact that had made my heart all warm and fuzzy when I’d found out about it, however the same couldn’t be said for the rest of the council. Of course, Claire and Hayden had both voted against me, as well as Tyrese – who I apparently “unnerved”. Karen had abstained from voting, citing herself as “biased”, which had made the vote a tie.

It had remained at a stalemate for almost a full week before the tiebreaker come into play.

When I had heard that Rick had personally stepped in to cast his well-respected vote, I’d almost choked on my dinner in surprise. I mean, we had become closer since his “retirement”, that was true. Now that he was no longer strung out and stressed, he had grown into an almost entirely different person. We got along better than I would have ever thought. Despite that, however, his vote had left me in a state of shock for quite some time.

It had been a week since that day and my first council meeting was scheduled for this evening. To say I was nervous would be an understatement. Daryl was busy helping Carol and young Lucas skin the deer we’d caught earlier that morning and Hershel was tending to a sick little girl. Even Michonne was gone, out in the forests, searching for the Governor, which had left me no one to talk to. No one but good ole Farmer Rick, of course.

“Looks like the corns coming along well,” I remarked as I came to a stop beside him.

He straightened and turned to look at me, leaning partially against the hoe in his hand as he smiled. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“Your green-thumb surprises you?” I asked with an amused grin.

He chuckled and gave a nod, looking over his small little series of crops with a proud smile.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him the only reason his crops were growing as well as they were was because of me. During the night, before I met Daryl in the watch tower, I sometimes walked through the fields. My kind had a natural affinity for nature, which enabled me to use some of my limited magical ability to… well, gently encourage the crops to grow. It was nice to see it was working.

We stood in silence for a few minutes, until Rick spoke up, turning his body to face me.

“You’re hoverin’,” he remarked, giving me an amused look.

I put my hands behind my back and gave a half-hearted shrug, averting my gaze from his. “What? Me? Hover?”

Rick stepped forward, moving the hoe along with him so he could continue to lean against it as he gave me a kind look. “Syn. I know you’re nervous about the council.”

“What?” I asked, lifting a brow as I turned back to meet his gaze and forced a smile. “Me? Nervous?”

My voice rose half an octave, shaking slightly at the end of the last word. Even I didn’t believe my own attempts to convince him I wasn’t in the least bit uneasy about my first council meeting.

“I wouldn’t have put my neck out for you if I didn’t think you could do it,” Rick said lightly, reaching out with one hand to place it comfortingly on my shoulder. “You’re a smart woman, Synnove. Resourceful. And you work well under pressure.”

“I’m also a hot-head,” I remarked, giving him a pointed look. “And weirdly arrogant for someone with such a deep sense of self-loathing.”

Rick’s crystal blue eyes softened at that and he stepped even closer, so much so that the tips of our boots were barely two inches apart. He lowered his head, brows furrowed in a frown. “You’re a better person than you seem to think you are. You’ll do great, Syn. Trust yourself – believe in yourself. I do.”

I snorted incredulously, though it was half-hearted at best. His words struck me with an odd sense of pride, lifting me out of the abyss of my own self-doubt. I respected Rick, respected what he had done here, the way he saw people, so to hear him say that he believed in me… Well, it made me feel all warm and tingly. Unable to stop myself, I gave him a genuine smile. “Fine,” I breathed, forcing myself to sound put out. “But if I end up punching Claire in the face, it’s on you.”

He laughed softly, low in his throat, before stepping away from me and removing his hand, placing it back on the hoe by his side. “I think I can handle that.”

We smiled silently at one another for a moment before I nodded, taking a deep breath and turning away from him. “Alright, then. Wish me luck.”

I could feel his eyes on me as I walked away. “Good luck.”  

#

Turns out, the luck was most certainly needed.

The moment I stepped foot into the cell block’s centre room, where the council meetings were always held, I was instantly verbally assaulted. I’d barely even had a chance to close the metal door behind me before I heard Claire’s whiny voice pipe up from her place at the circular table below.

“What the hell is she doing here?”

I turned in place to look down at her with a forced pleasant smile, casually descending the short staircase and crossing the concrete floor to the table. Daryl shuffled over on his seat, giving me room to sit down beside him. I gave him a thankful smile as I did.

“Rick agreed Synnove would be a good addition to this council,” Hershel stated simply, giving me a kind smile and encouraging nod before turning back to face Claire. Her face looked as if someone had just unhinged their jaw and swallowed her favourite pet whole. “Now that we are all here, our first order of business is to attend–”

“Hold on just a hot second,” Claire cut in, lifting both her hands up and waving them about as if to get everyone’s attention. “I thought we agreed her presence here would be detrimental to our future as a community.”

I let out a sigh, reaching down to pull up the sleeves of my leather jacket, exposing my tattooed forearms. “Ah, here we go.”

Claire ignored that, slowly rising out of her seat to look each of the council members in turn – notably avoiding eye contact with me. “This is the same woman that changed sides in the middle of a war. The same woman that did terrible, terrible things at the behest of a sociopath, knowing full well what he was. The same woman that murdered a man in cold blood before Woodbury’s fences were even complete.”

I raised my hand. “Actually, the fences were well and truly finished when I killed Marcus.”

Claire finally met my gaze, though it was only to express how aghast and disgusted she was with the blasé way I’d just said that. She pointed an accusatory finger at me with a snarl. “See? She takes pleasure in killing innocent men.”

Beside me, I felt Daryl’s leg slide across the concrete floor, the side of his booted foot coming to rest against my own. I knew it was his way of giving comfort. After all, he was the only one here that knew the truth – well, believed the truth – of what happened that night with Marcus and his two sycophants.

I took a deep breath and shook my head. “Marcus was far from an innocent man, Claire.”

She scoffed. “Your lies fall on deaf ears here in this council, murderer.”

I wanted so badly to scream at her that I was literally incapable of lying, yet knew that would only open a can of worms I was in no way prepared to dive into. Instead, I just shook my head and tossed up a hand in exasperation.

“Synnove’s past is not up for discussion,” Hershel politely stated, looking to Claire with that disapproving look of his. “We are here to talk about the future.”

“Oh, you mean the likelihood of her murdering someone else?” Hayden remarked with a bemused snort. “In the future?”

I turned my head to give him a pointed look. When his gaze met mine, he sunk back in his seat with a thinly veiled look of fear, averting his eyes down to the silver table in front of him. “My place on this council has been decided. Move the fuck past it, man. We got shit to sort out.”

“How eloquent,” Claire sighed, slowly lowering herself back down into her own seat.

I bit my tongue, forcing myself not to bite back at that comment, instead turning my attention to Hershel as he continued what he had been attempting to say earlier. Our first order of business. Apparently, the food situation was rapidly growing dire. We didn’t have enough supplies left over from the remains of Woodbury to sustain us all for an extended period of time. The game Daryl and I brought back was helpful, but it wasn’t enough, and the likelihood the crops would be ready to harvest before we all began to feel the effects of starvation was disastrously low.

Hershel looked to me, pulling a rolled-up piece of paper from his back pocket and laying it out flat on the table in front of him. It was a map of the local area, including what had once been Woodbury and its neighbouring towns and farmlands. “Can you tell us the areas you had yet to scavenge from?”

I lifted my butt out of the seat in order to lean over and get a better look. It was true that Merle and I had made short work of the local townships, having nearly torn apart every house we came into contact with. There was little left in the way of supplies around the majority of the mapped-out area before me, that I knew for certain. We had hit every single house in every single town within a ten-mile radius.

“The only places here we didn’t get to were the farms out by the interstate,” I explained, pointing out the three large acres of land along the stretch of road. “They were too overrun for just the two of us and Phil didn’t think they’d be worth the risk.”

“Odd,” Claire remarked, barely loud enough to be heard. “I thought you were meant to be some kind of Goddess at cutting down biters. Your partner sure seemed to think so. Although, his complete and utter devotion to you, which was sickening to say the least, would suggest his opinions were rather flawed.” She gave me an irritatingly wide grin. “Good thing he got cut down before you turned on him, too.”

The sheer amount of willpower it took to stay firmly planted on that seat beside Daryl was honestly impressive, even to me. My entire body may have been tensed so completely that I could be mistaken for a stone statue, but I stayed where I was. I didn’t leap across the table and shove the palm of my hand so hard against her nose, it pushed her cartilage back into the miniscule excuse for a brain that rattled around in that head of hers. Like I wanted to. No, I remained exactly where I was. As did Daryl, though I could all but feel the anger radiating off him as if it were a wave of physical heat.

A chilling smile stretched across my face as I looked across the table at Claire, running my tongue slowly across my upper teeth as I tried to sort through the red haze of anger that clouded my mind for a diplomatic way of saying “fuck you”.

“Listen here, Claire,” I said slowly, my voice a shadow of its former self in his sheer coldness. “I know you have an issue with me being here. You’ve made that quite clear. Another thing you have made quite clear is your complete and utter lack of anything resembling tact. Merle and I kept you all safe and alive and fed for months. You might not have liked the man – and I can’t blame you for that – but at least have the fucking decency to keep your negative comments regarding him out of the council on which his younger brother sits, you ungrateful, undignified, spiteful bitch.”

The room fell into a tense, deafening silence. Claire stared back at me with her mouth agape for a moment before her green eyes slid across to Daryl. Her expression fell as the realisation struck her that she had just bad mouthed a dead man whose brother sat across the table from her. She looked utterly shameful, opening and closing her mouth as if in an attempt to come up with an apology that wouldn’t sound forced.

Daryl couldn’t meet her gaze for much longer than a handful of seconds, looking down at the table with a huffed breath. His boot was still pressed against mine beneath the table. I lifted my foot and placed it gently on top of his, trying my best to provide a silent comfort while I glared coldly across the table at the arrogant woman as she rose from her seat.

“I’m so sorry, Daryl,” she breathed, putting a hand to her chest. “I didn’t think.”

When Daryl shook his head, grimacing, unable to answer, I felt my anger peak once again. Her words had only served to remind him of the pain he’d barely had a chance to move on from. Of the brother that had perished doing the first selfless thing he’d ever done. The brother that, by his understanding, had died for him.

How dare she? How fucking dare she put her resentment of me above Daryl?

Slowly, I rose out of my seat, moving my foot from atop Daryl’s in order to do so. “Sit the fuck down, Claire, and if you so much as open your mouth again about anything other than council business, I may just reach in there and pull your spine out through your throat. Got it?”

She looked back at me with wide eyes as she, almost involuntarily, fell back down into her seat. It seemed as if she truly believed that was something I was capable of, as if that cold, hissed statement had reminded her of exactly who she was mouthing off to. Her fear of me had become hatred, but the foundations of that fear were still rooted deep within her.

Everyone stared at me as I slowly sunk back down into my seat beside Daryl, their silence speaking volumes. Karen and Tyrese shared a look with one another whilst Michonne gave me an encouraging nod. Hershel seemed somewhat ill at ease with my violent threat, but allowed it without comment, nonetheless. Claire and Hayden both looked as if they were about to be sick, which was fine with me.

Daryl, beside me, reached out beneath the table and placed a thankful hand on my knee. I glanced at him out the corner of my eye and gave him a small nod before turning back to look over the map once again.

“As I was saying,” I continued, my voice returning to normal. “The farms along the interstate haven’t been touched by anyone from Woodbury. They may well be full to the brim with supplies. Only issue being, of course, the number of biters out there will rival a two-man squad. You’d need at least six.”

Hershel nodded, no doubt thankful we’d finally moved on from the feud between Claire and I. His gaze slid across the entire table, glancing at each of us in turn before coming back to me. “Synnove will lead a six-man group to the first farm, here,” he said, pointing out the closest farm to the prison. “You can take a car and one of the trucks, but if there are too many out there, you come right on back. Do not push forward if you are unable.”

I nodded in agreement, reaching out to take the map from the table and rolling it back up silently.

“I’ll go,” Daryl stated, his voice hoarse.

“So will I,” Michonne volunteered.

“I’m down, too,” Tyrese said, though he didn’t particularly sound all that happy about it.

I gave him a thankful smile, which seemed to quell some of the tension that had pulled his shoulders into a tight line.

“That’s four,” I remarked.

“Glenn will go with you,” Hershel suggested.

“I can get Sasha to come, too,” Tyrese put in, this time returning my thankful smile with one of his own.

I nodded and grinned back at Hershel. “Well, that was easy. What’s next on the agenda?”

Everything went relatively smoothly from then on, as we discussed possibilities on upgrading the fences. At one point, there, I was almost enjoying myself. Once Daryl’s mood improved somewhat, I found it much easier to relax into my position, going so far as to suggest a possible subject to discuss during our next meeting. Hershel seemed to be pleased by my addition, writing down the possibility of establishing some kind of schooling system for the young ones onto his notepad.

I probably should have left it there, of course. Why I felt the need to push it one step further is beyond me, but at the time it had made all the logical sense in the world. As if I’d forgotten my apparent nemesis was sitting across the table from me, intent on my complete and utter social destruction.

“I’d suggest adding some kind of defensive training,” I added, pointing to Hershel’s list. “The kids could probably use it.”

Claire snorted. “Of course, you’d be the one to suggest that,” she remarked, crossing her arms over her chest indignantly. “The children do not need to learn how to kill one another.”

I took a deep breath before turning my attention on her, trying my hardest to keep the promise I’d made to myself to remain civil toward her during council sessions. “I never said that. All I’m suggesting is we give them all the skills necessary to survive in a world overrun by walking corpses that want to eat them. But, go off, I guess.”

I didn’t need to turn my head to know Daryl had nodded in agreement. Which apparently made Claire even angrier, for some reason.

“They’re children!” she replied, raising her voice so that it echoed around the empty room. “It is our job as adults to protect them, not train them to be some kind of child-soldier army.”

“Do you do this on purpose?” I asked, tilting my head to the side as I regarded her. “Misinterpret everything I say just so you’ll have something to argue about?”

“You’re the one talking about arming kids!” she shouted back at me. “And you think you’re better than the Governor?”

My eyes partially widened at that, out of the sheer disbelief that she seemed to believe I was no better than the man that had massacred half of our town out of goddamn spite. A scoff escaped me as I shook my head, whispering a curse under my breath with a bemused smile. “You have got to be kidding me. Claire, that man wanted to send those kids into battle. I’m merely saying it would be beneficial – to them, the children – to learn how to defend themselves against the biters. Are you seriously disagreeing with me on this? Do you want them to get eaten?”

“Synnove,” Hershel cautioned. “Enough. We will take the suggestion into consideration and speak on it next week.”

Claire rose out of her seat and shook her head, raising her hand out to Hershel as if to tell him to be silent.

Oh, I was going to hit her. The urge was almost too much. Had Daryl not pressed the sole of his boot against the top of my own shoe, I probably would have leapt out of that seat and across the table before anyone even had a chance to blink.

“I think this is something that warrants discussion now,” Claire stated haughtily.

“Claire, leave it alone,” Karen sighed, speaking up for the first time in a while.

The two women shared a look, during which I could see the sheer exasperation on Karen’s face as she tried to shake her head, a silent plea that Claire seemingly ignored.

“If you go anywhere near any of those children,” the haughty woman began, “I will personally –“

“You’ll what?” I snapped, leaning my forearms against the table as I stared evenly up at her. “What will you do, Claire? What can you do to me?”

She leant forward, too, placing one hand against the metal table in order to thrust her painfully skeletal finger in my face. “Listen here, you arrogant little psychopath, I was a US senator. The list of things I could do to you are endless.”

I snorted a laugh. “Where the fuck do you think you are? Washington? Civilisation has taken a trip to fucked-ville, darling. Your hoity-toity senator bullshit means nothing to me.”

“It should,” she spat. “I can have half of those idiots out there believing you are the Devil incarnate by noon tomorrow.”

I pursed my lips and nodded, feigning bemused agreement, before breaking character and laughing. “The way you say that implies you think I give a shit about what people think of me.”

“I don’t care if you do or don’t,” Claire hissed in response. “You ever heard of a citizen’s arrest? Imagine what that will be like in this world. They’ll hang you up by your neck from a tree.”

Tyrese, Michonne, and I all simultaneously took in a sharp breath at that. The meaning of her words seemed lost on her, if the confused look she gave the two of them said anything. I shook my head, eyes hard as I glared back at her in disgust.

“So… you’re suggesting…” I scoffed out an unamused snort. “Let me get this straight. You’re suggesting a lynching?”

It took her a second longer than it should have to catch on. Her eyes grew wide and she straightened, looking between Michonne and Tyrese with wide, horrified eyes. “That is not what I meant.”

“Sure sounded like it,” Michonne remarked, her voice hard. Tyrese nodded his agreement.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Claire’s wide gaze turned to me. “Don’t twist my words.”

“It’s literally what you described,” I responded with a blank expression.

She let out a frustrated groan. “You! I meant you! It’s what you deserve! For Marcus, for Woodbury, for Jasmi–”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Daryl shot up out of his seat before she could finish that one name that would have sent me over the edge, pointing an aggressive finger in her direction. “You shut your damn mouth! We don’t need to hear no more of your shit, so sit the hell down!”

Claire, as stunned as the rest of us at Daryl’s outburst, slowly sunk down into her chair and snapped her mouth closed. I craned my neck back to look up at him with my brows raised, the ghost of a smile pulling at the corners of my lips. Something about the hard set of his jaw as he glared menacingly down at Claire made my lower stomach tighten.

Once he was sure the woman was going to keep her mouth well and truly shut, he returned to his seat with a gruff sigh. I watched him lower himself down, watched him clench and unclench his jaw, with a wide-eyed look of shocked amusement. He glanced over to me and once our eyes met, I had to bite back a laugh, turning to look away before I lost it.

After a moment of tense silence, I looked between everyone and gave a nod. “Well, that was hot. Let’s move on.”

And, thankfully, we did.

[101flavoursofweird]

Dear, @one-groovy-rose - ‘tis I, your PL Secret Santa! I’m very sorry this is late, but please have some LayClaire angst, with a dash of Anton/Sophia and a surprise cameo. You asked for crying scenes - while this doesn’t contain much crying from Layton himself (because he’s Layton), it contains a lot of sadness. You can choose to see the PL2 portion of this fic as an AU... or is it? I’ll leave that for you to decide! I hope you had a very happy Christmas and enjoy the rest of your holidays.  

Title: Untie the Knot

Description: Hershel sees her in the ballroom of Herzen Castle.

Pairing: Layton/Claire

“Grrr! Unnngh!”

“Claire?” Hershel tapped on the white panel door of their en-suite. “Is everything alright in there?”  

“I’m fine…!” This was followed by crash and a curse, one Claire would deem inappropriate for a lady.

“Are you quite sure about that…?”

There was a pause – Hershel glanced at the watch Clark had picked out for him – before he received a grudging reply. “Okay.”

“May I come in?”

He heard shuffling, a bang against the door and a grunt as the lock was undone. Slowly, he slid back the door. He was met with Claire’s vexed expression.

On no account should a gentleman chuckle at a lady’s expense. Not even if she had somehow gotten tangled in her bridesmaid dress.

The frilly yellow dresses Brenda had chosen came with a plethora of bows, ensnaring the upper arms and the waist. Poor Claire looked like she could hardly breathe; her stomach was sucked right in and her arms were pinned to her sides. Had she unlocked the door with her shoulder?

Claire ran a hand through her curls, beautiful even in their disarray. “Ready?” she wheezed, waddling out of the bathroom.

Hershel glanced down at his black suit (thank goodness Clark had selected it) and back up to her. “Of course, but are you–?”

“No time to fuss.” She crossed their hotel room as if she was marching through custard. “The horse and carriage will be here soon.”

“I’m sure the horses can wait.” Clark could always reassure them. “Please, let me help you.”

“You can try.” She turned her back on him, giving him access to the bow around her waist and hiding her embarrassment. Hershel hummed. This was by the far the biggest bow— perhaps if they loosened it…

As he did so, Claire unleashed a sigh. “I can breathe again!”

“That’s one part solved.” She faced him and he untied the bows restricting her arms. Claire rolled her shoulders. He tried not to stare as the bodice slipped down her chest slightly.  

“E-evidently, these four straps need to be tied into one bow across the back.” Fumbling, he fixed the back of the dress.

She approached the mirror, moving easily now, and admired his handiwork. “Perfect – thank you, Hershel!”

The dress really was perfect on her. Now the bodice was higher, more modest. She would look lovely next to Brenda without taking the attention off her. 

Claire giggled. “A true gentleman shouldn’t stare, Hershel.”

He glanced away, flushing. “R-right.”

“I suppose I can forgive you, after you saved me.” She came in for cuddle and probably would have kissed him if someone hadn’t knocked on the door. 

“The horse and carriage is outside,” Dr. Schrader called, as if he were rounding up a class of distracted students. “Come along, you two.” 

“Coming!” they chorused. 

 “What?”

The dancers swirled around them, a blur of faces and colors and splendor.

Distantly, Hershel wondered if his memory was playing up again, or if his eyesight was going. Then a figure emerged from the crowd. Her gait was not hurried or awkward as she drifted towards him. She was wearing a familiar yellow dress – but it couldn’t be the same one, could it? 

“Professor… Is that…?”

“Claire?” he breathed. The air felt thick around him. It was making his eyes water.

She cocked her head at him in that curious way of hers. “Hershel? Is it really you?”

Every joint in his body was locked in place. He couldn’t so much as nod. 

As she came closer, he was mesmerized by the scent of her perfume. Gone was the stench of metal and singed hair from the last time he had seen her.  

She reached out and took his hand. Her grip was firm.

This can’t be real, some part of him protested.

“It is,” she insisted, guiding his hand to her waist. She felt warm… alive. Was it really her or an impersonator?

“The resemblance is striking,” he found himself saying. He had to test her. “How did you get here – in Anton’s castle?” 

“What are they doing together?” he heard Luke ask.

How could he forget Luke? Hershel looked around for Luke, but Claire put a hand on his cheek, turning his head back to her. She was smiling. The ballroom darkened around them, separating them from the other partners. 

“I miss you,” she whispered. She rested her head on his chest. “I never want to leave you again.” 

That’s right– she had left him that day to go to the lab. She had never returned– 

Claire’s hold tightened. “I’m here, with you.” 

His eyes swam with tears, distorting her appearance. She was nothing more than an illusion– 

“Believe me.” She kissed him, but her lips were too forceful. 

He tried to step back, letting go of her hands. “I- I want to believe it— more than anything. That’s why I can’t trust my own intuition.” He wiped his eyes. “There’s something very wrong with this castle... with this entire town.”

His Claire would have offered a solution or rushed off to find one. The Claire before him sighed and seized his hands. “Really, Hershel. You’re making a scene...” 

At the very least, she was being honest about that. 

The rest of the dancers had stopped to leer at them from the shadows. Hershel felt like they were closing in on him, Claire included. 

“Fear not, my dear. They’re just the main course for this evening...”

A golden-haired man (Anton?) was stalking towards him. Claire didn’t seem concerned in the slightest. She was still smiling, sickly sweet, and squeezing his hands. He reeled away from her. 

“And my, don’t they look fresh.”

“Where is Luke?” Hershel demanded.

“Luke—?” 

“Clark and Brenda’s son! Surely you remember him.” Claire had only known young Luke for a short time, but she had loved him like her own. 

Frantic, he searched the room. All he could see were shadowy strangers and searing red eyes. 

Claire laughed along with them. Hershel glanced back at her and instantly regretted it. Her eyes were filled with fire. Her face was peeling away, like paper held to a flame. 

Suddenly, she let out weak sob. “Help me, Hershel...” 

“Wha—?”

That was Luke’s voice! 

“I’m sorry,” Hershel choked out. He tore his gaze away from her. “I must find Luke.” 

“You won’t forget me, will you? 

It was a struggle to shut out her voice as he shuffled through the crowd. “Luke?” he shouted. 

A masked man moved out of his path, cape billowing behind him. “He always forgets,” the man hissed. 

Not Luke, Hershel thought. Luke was real and he truly was alive –

Then Luke’s scream shattered the nightmare and Hershel awoke in a cold sweat. 

Anton Herzen, claiming to be vampire, had stolen them from their beds and tied them up in a storage room. Luke was unharmed, but scared out of his wits. Hershel reminded Luke, and himself, to take a deep breath. (That’s what a gentleman does.) 

He shifted his arms, demonstrating how flimsy the knots in their ropes. Why had Anton tied up them so feebly…?

The answer become clear later, when Katia revealed that Anton was her grandfather – a seventy-something elderly man. His strength had deteriorated with age, but Anton was unaware of this as he was suffering from the effects of hallucinogenic gas. After they had escaped from the castle and the illusion had lifted, Anton’s true colors were brought to light. His young visage melted away, but he was met with the love of his granddaughter and he was able to let go of Sophia. 

As they made their way into the derelict town, Anton apologized for accusing Hershel of stealing Sophia. 

“No, ‘steal’ isn’t the right word. I had no claim over Sophia’s life or her choices. If she fell in love with another after she left, I can’t blame her.” 

“I understand,” Hershel told him, touching his hat. “I... Luke and I were only exposed to the gas for a short time, but the illusions we experienced felt dreadfully real.” He shuddered at the memory of Claire’s smile, her touch and her sobbing. 

If he had remained in the castle for much longer, would he have decided to stay with her? After all these years, he would do anything to see her again... but not like that. 

He couldn’t wait to get on the train, reunite with Flora and return home. Hair-raising adventures rarely found him in London.

[jamesbucksiclebarnes]

Rating: Mature: Language, threats of violence.

Chapter List: [1] | [2] | [3] | [4] | [5] | [6] | [7] | [8] | [9] | [10] | [11] | [12] | [13] | [14] | [15] | [16] | [17] | [18] | [19]

[AO3 Link] | [Fic Page]

Tag List: @crossbowking, @khaleesislytherin

SERIES SUMMARY:

"Not human. She was not human. They all knew it. Could almost feel it, but couldn't make sense of it. That was why they were afraid. Not because of what she used to be Before. But because of what she was now."

Having found herself serving as the right-hand to the Governor for too long, Synnove le Jacques does her best to make things right with the people of the Prison. Stuck beside her partner in crime, her irritatingly obnoxious and hideously problematic best friend, Merle, she does her best to fight back against the monster she has let the Governor become.

CHAPTER TITLE: The Path to Dead Man’s Farm.

It was worse than we’d thought.

As we drove along the interstate, watching the fields go by in a sepia blur, it became quite obvious that we were going to need more people to get this job done. Daryl rose ahead, a good few metres in front of Michonne, Glenn, and I in our little sedan. At our backs, Tyreese and his sister, Sasha, drove the truck a handful of car lengths behind. As our little convey grew closer to the turn off that lead down to the first farmhouse, we couldn’t help but notice the biters shuffling through the fields. They began to group together the further along we drove, forming denser packs, almost multiplying in numbers with each passing mile.

By the time the turn off came into view, we knew it was going to be next to impossible to make it down that damn dirt road.

Daryl pulled off to the side, rolling to a stop and lifting his hand to indicate we do the same. Michonne brought the car to a stop beside him and I rolled down my window, opening my mouth to speak but finding myself only able to grimace as the truck behind us came to a halt. The squeak of the breaks was loud enough to draw the attention of a few dozen biters within the fields to our right. Thankfully, as they stumbled toward us, the barbed wire fence made short work of stopping them.

“There’s gotta be more than two-hundred of ‘em,” Daryl remarked, gesturing with one hand toward the dirt road just in view over the slight hill before us.

“Well, I got thirty bullets,” I remarked with a soft grin. “So, I’ll just have to take out six or so for every shot. That’ll be a piece of cake, right?”

Daryl snorted but shook his head, anyway, just in case I was being serious. “Ain’t no way we’re cutting a path for the cars.”

I straightened in my seat in order to peer across Daryl, to the dirt road. Even from this distance, I could see the bobbing heads of biters, so numerous they all but shrouded the horizon with their numbers. A frown formed on my face as I turned to look at Michonne.

“Way I see it, we have two choices. Glenn and Sasha drive while the four of us cut down as many as we can,” I said. “Or, we go home.” And I use way too much magic to grow the crops and likely end up putting my moronic ass in a coma or something equally irritatingly stupid.

Michonne pursed her lips in thought, looking across me at Daryl and lifting a questioning brow. Glenn leant forwards, putting his head in the space between the two front seats and looking at us all in turn.

“Why do I have to drive?” he asked.

“You want the honest answer to that?” I responded, turning in my seat to look at him with a bemused grin. “Maggie would kill us if anything happened to you. Also, it would disappoint Hershel, which is somehow more terrifying a prospect than Maggie’s rage.”

Glenn snorted.

“Hershel will be disappointed if we push on when we know we shouldn’t,” Michonne said plainly, sinking back into her seat.

Behind us, Tyreese climbed out of the truck bed and made his way over to us, coming to a stop beside Daryl’s bike.

“What’s the game plan?” he asked, leaning down in order to peer through my open window at the rest of us.

I glanced at Michonne and Glenn before turning back to the other two with a shrug. “Fuck knows, mate.”

“We could take the truck through, run ‘em down?” Tyreese suggested.

I shook my head the same time Daryl said, “Nah.”

“It might work for a solid minute or two, but sooner or later, you’ll get bogged in corpses,” I said with a grimace. “Which, believe me, will not be pretty.”

Tyreese’s face scrunched into a cringe as he shook his head. “Yeah, maybe not.”

“We could lead them away?” Glenn suggested, giving me and Michonne a hopeful smile.

“Could work,” I responded. “How’d you go about it?”

Glenn glanced down at the sedan’s console, brows furrowing as he reached out a hand to play with one of the buttons on the dusty radio. “We could turn on the music? Lure them down?”

“If you’re comfortable with two-hundred undead groupies following you and your music along, sure,” I remarked with a chuckle.

Glenn frowned, leaning forward a fraction further to look up at Tyreese. “Does the radio work in the truck?”

“Yes,” I answered before Tyreese even had a chance to think on it. When I received a handful of confused looks, I glanced out the window at Daryl with a bemused chuckle. “Merle and I used to take it out on runs. We’d fight over the music.” My gaze slid back across to Tyreese as I gestured with my hand toward the truck itself. “There should be a couple of good ole tapes in the centre consol. Do not touch the ones that have an “M” written on them, unless you want your ears to bleed.”

Daryl snorted at that, which made me smile.

“Alright, I’ll get Sasha to drive to the opening of the road,” Tyreese began with a serious nod. “Once she’s cleared some of them out, the four of us will head down there and cut down what we can.”

“Four? What about me?” Glenn asked with a frown.

“You drive behind us,” I said, looking up at Tyreese to make sure that was where his head had been, too. “Watch our backs and give us an easy out if things get too much.”

Tyreese nodded, a smile slowly stretching across his face. “Exactly.”

We grinned at one another for a moment and I felt myself beginning to wonder if he was starting to believe I wasn’t quite as unnerving as he’d originally thought. The thought made my chest warm slightly. It was nice to think, even just for a moment, that maybe not everyone on the council agreed with Claire.

Daryl kicked the stand on his bike out and slid off the seat, walking around it to stand by my window as Tyreese strode down to the trunk in order to inform his sister of our plans. His eyes were narrowed slightly in the stream of sunlight that cast a hollow shadow across his face as he peered into the car.

“You sure ‘bout this?” he asked us.

I gave a confident nod, as did Michonne. Glenn seemed a little put out, but he lifted his head in response anyway. Daryl’s boots shuffled against the asphalt as he shifted his weight, taking a deep breath and blowing it out through his nose in a sigh.

“Why, you scared, Little Dixon?” I asked, grinning cheekily up at him.

He cocked a thin brow and scoffed. “Like hell.”  

The sound of a slamming door behind us made him straighten, turning to look back as Tyreese made his way toward the car with a fire axe gripped tightly in both of his meaty hands. Daryl pulled his crossbow from his shoulder and stepped back to allow me space to exit the vehicle.

Michonne got out with me, stepping to the back to collect her blade as Glenn crawled through the centre to find his place in the driver’s seat.

“We set?” Tyreese asked, looking between us all as I unsheathed the two knives on my belt.

Michonne secured the strap of her sheath over his shoulders and nodded.

“Keen as a bean,” I remarked, skilfully spinning the two knives in my hands.

Tyreese looked down at them with a small frown before glancing down the road, waving a hand at his sister. Her head was barely visible above the dashboard of the truck as it rumbled to a start.

I looked down at my hands as I spun the knives, pursing my lips in thought. Often, I’d find myself wondering exactly what level of skill I should really be displaying in front of the others. After all, there was no one currently left alive that knew the truth of my previous profession. And I kind of wanted to keep it that way. Which meant, keeping a lid on the extent of my murderous abilities. However, could I truly hold myself back when doing so could potentially put Daryl or Michonne at risk?

These were the kinds of questions that kept me up at night.

As the truck peeled out from its position behind the sedan, Sasha wound down the window and hit play on the radio. Clear as day, loud enough to rattle the windows, the sound of Celine Dion’s voice cut through the silent air like a blade through a biters skull.

Instantly, everyone turned to look at me with a cocked brow. Even Daryl.

I pointed at him. “Don’t you look at me. That’s your brothers.”

His brows rose. “Bullshit.”

“Cross my heart.” My grin widened as Daryl’s look of confusion morphed into an amused smile.

“Bullshit,” he echoed, though more out of surprise than accusation.

“Never would have guessed,” Michonne remarked with an equally amused grin.

“He was a man of many mysteries,” I remarked, chuckling under my breath as I watched Sasha pull the truck over to the opening of the turn off.  

The biters along the road began to shuffle down toward her, kicking up a cloud of dirt as they moved in uncoordinated unison toward the loud sounds coming from the truck. We waited until Sasha had begun to pull away, leading a long line of undead behind her, before we began to move forward.

By the time we got there, Sasha was already almost half a mile down the road, a trail of biters following along to the sounds of Celine Dion’s voice. Glenn rolled to a stop at the opening of the road as Daryl lifted his crossbow and shot an arrow clear through the closest biter’s face. I began to march my way down the dirt path, twirling my knives until I came close enough to strike. Quick as a snake, I thrust my arm out, clearing the two biters on either side of me in one smooth motion. Before they had even hit the ground, I stepped forward, slashing upwards with one hand and slicing a biter’s face near in half before twisting around it to stab another pair through their eye sockets.

Michonne slashed along behind me, followed by Tyreese as he grunted and swung his axe down on biter after biter. Daryl remained a few paces back for the first few before shouldering the crossbow and using both his bowie knife and one of the loose arrows he’d pulled from a biter to clear the way.

Glenn remained at a safe distance, rolling the car along with us as we made slow progress up the dirt road.

The biters out in the fields had begun to shuffle their way over toward the road, too, catching themselves on the barbed wire fence like a group of flies attracted to honey. Though, the more of them that came, the less stable the fence became. I kept half an eye on the wooden posts holding the wire together as I cut my way through biter after biter, noting the way the ground behind the post began to move as the wood was pushed forwards.

We were far enough down the dirt road that the farmhouse was clear in view, barely half a mile away. All we needed to do was reach it before those fences gave way.

#

Luck, as it turned out, was not on our side.

We’d barely made it another ten or so feet down the dirt road before I heard the tell-tale sound of splintering wood. It was slight enough that I knew I was the only one that heard it, barely loud enough to catch my attention over the gargling biters and Tyreese, Michonne, and Daryl’s grunts of effort as they sliced and diced their way down the path.

I stabbed and slashed at the two biters between me and Daryl faster than what was likely humanly possible, reaching out to catch his arm. Before he could even turn to face me, I began yanking him backward, toward the car.

“Ty! Michonne! The car! Now!”

None of them argued. My tone of voice left no room for disagreement.

As we moved toward the car, I waved at Glen to move aside. He put the car in park and slid between the two seats, pushing open the door for Michonne and Ty to climb in beside him. I let go of Daryl only long enough for him to make a move toward the passenger’s side whilst I dove into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut on a biter’s outstretched hand. The thing fell into my lap but I paid it no mind as I shoved the car back into gear.

The sound of cracking wood echoed through the air outside, loud enough now that the others could hear it, even through the closed windows. It started behind us. Biters began to surge forward as the wooden posts gave way beneath their weight, trampling over the fallen barbed wire in their path as they went. A morbidly amusing thought came to mind as I watched the fence give way in the rear-view mirror, post after post. It was like a damn Mexican wave of undead, surging onto the dirt road.

I slammed my foot down on the gas, propelling us forward and into the gathered crowd of biters beyond. Bodies crashed against the bonnet of the car as we sped forwards, smashing into the windscreen, spreading spiderwebs across the glass and decorating them with leaking viscera. It got so bad that I could barely see through the layer of blood and gore, which wasn’t great, considering I was speeding forwards at sixty miles an hour down a short dirt road.

Thankfully, I was the one behind the wheel. My keen eyes and lightning fast reflexes enabled me to react at a rate far superior than the average human.

All it took was a glimpse, slight thought it was, to know where I was and what I needed to do. Without warning, I jerked the wheel to the side. The car slid out, drifting sideways down the last stretch of road, knocking back biter after biter until our speed was reduced to almost nothing.

We skid to a stop merely two feet away from the staircase that lead up to the farmhouse’s entrance. Daryl pushed his door open, lifting his crossbow and taking a blind shot at the biter hovering outside before pushing past it and leaping up the first stair.

Michonne, Glenn, and Ty slid out of the back, following Daryl up the staircase. Biters trailed behind them, too busy on their tail to notice that the door to the car had been left open and I was still inside.

There were too many of them for me to even attempt to get through, so I waited until I heard the front door slam open and then shut before I made my move.

I leant back in my seat and kicked out at the cracks in the windshield, shattering the glass with enough force to pop out the window’s frame. Cautiously, I climbed through and onto the bonnet. The metal was slick with blood. My boots barely had enough grip to counter it, though it thankfully made it a lot more difficult for the biters to climb up alongside me.

They noticed my presence instantly, turning away from the front door of the farmhouse and all but throwing themselves down the staircase toward me. From the road, more and more of them flooded forwards, crashing into the side of the car with enough force to rock it from side to side.

I almost lost my balance as I stepped toward the house, looking up at the overhanging eave that kept the porch shielded from the midday sun.

“Syn! Let me go! She’s still out there! Syn!”

I heard Daryl’s voice screaming from inside the farmhouse and swallowed back against my rising trepidation. The car was rocking violently now, as if I were standing atop a boat in the midst of an ocean storm.

Without thinking about how difficult a jump like this would have been for any regular person, I leapt, reaching my hands out to grip onto the eave’s guttering. Using my body’s momentum, I swung back, simultaneously using my grip to pull myself up and onto the overhanging roof. I scrambled up onto the tiles, cautious not to disrupt them from their placing as I climbed onto my feet.

I could hear rapid footfalls from inside, growing louder and louder until Daryl’s panicked face appeared through the glass of the second story window before me. He reached down and unlatched it, pulling half of the frame up as I made my way up the slight slant of the roof toward him.  

Once I was close enough, he stepped back to give me enough room to slide inside.

Michonne, Glenn and Ty appeared in the doorway of what appeared to be a teenage girl’s bedroom, their expressions of relief matched only by their exhausted laughs.

“Thought you were a goner for a second there,” Glenn remarked, stepping further in the room in order to slap a hand against my shoulder.

I snorted a laugh. “Ye of little faith.”

Tyreese, leaning against the doorframe, cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to ruin the moment, here, but, uh… Now what?”

I pursed my lips as I turned in place to look back out the window I had climbed in through, taking in the ocean of biters that had rolled in from the fields. They had begun to surround the house, almost mindlessly, as if they were propelled by little more than the very basic need for movement.

“Good question.”